


Mr. Sun and Mr. Moon

by baezechirrut



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, First Time, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mutual Pining, PWP, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baezechirrut/pseuds/baezechirrut
Summary: A little snippet of post-canon life where the boys realize they’re in love with each other. Cliff is head over heels, but doesn’t tell Rick. Rick is a little confused, but he’ll figure it out eventually.The title is from one of the songs in the movie.





	1. Treat Him Right

Cliff will sometimes bring over women and men to Rick’s when they’re both drunk. Rick feels jealous, but he doesn’t understand why; especially when he brings the younger boys.

When Rick finally realizes how he feels and slightly gets over the ideas he was raised with, he lets Cliff in his bed. Cliff asks him if he’s really okay with it. Rick only nods.

This is how it goes every time. Cliff would never initiate, letting Rick call the shots. He understood that Rick was often drunk but always prideful, and sat quietly making sure Rick was aware of his decisions.

Cliff doesn’t fuck him the first time. Or the second. Or the third. He only drunkenly kisses him, coddles him, and gives Rick the best blow job he’s ever had. Cliff’s lips are soft and wet when he comes back up for another round of kissing. His mouth tastes like whiskey, cigarettes, and the unmistakable bitter taste of sex.

He only slowly introduces his fingers inside of Rick the fourth time they share a semi-drunken night together. Rick sobs, which Cliff is fairly used to, but this time makes him pause.  
“You alright?”  
Rick hides his face behind his palms.  
“Y-yeah,” he sniffled. “I’m good, I’m good. J-just keep going.”  
Cliff nods, but slows down his usual pace, peppering kisses on Rick’s inner thigh.  
Rick comes after nearly a half hour, when Cliff teasingly presses down hard on his prostate.  
“Ff-fuck!” Rick hisses through clenched teeth. “What the hell was that?”

  
Cliff only chuckles in response, pressing down again. Rick comes soon after; his semen spattering his slightly soft stomach.

  
They both grab a cigarette after their breathing evens and Cliff cleans Rick up with a damp towel. Rick lights his with the lighter on his bedside table, and Cliff rolls over and lights his on Rick’s already lit cigarette. This somehow felt more intimate than a kiss, making him blush redder than he already was.

Cliff lies back down on his side of the bed, taking a long drag of his cigarette. They both quietly stare at the ceiling, glancing at each other only briefly before they notice. Their moment of silence is only broken by the whining of Brandy at the door.

  
He smiles as he gets up to open the door, Brandy coming excitedly in. She jumps up on the bed to lick at her favorite humans, her tail making muffled thumping sounds on the bed.  
Rick thought he could get used to this.  
Cliff was happy to share the bed with the two constants in his life.

—

They fuck for the first time at a house party.  
It’s a casual suit and tie event, which Cliff of course drives Rick to.  
Rick gets a little too drunk accepting drinks from the other guests as they hound him about that fateful August night.  
Cliff only stands at the corner of the circle of people surrounding his buddy, cigarette and drink in one hand.

  
It’s only midway through the party, but Rick’s stutter gets worse and he’s more or less leaning on Cliff to keep himself upright. They stand on the balcony, staring at the glowing half moon in the sky.  
“Beautiful out tonight, huh.” Cliff says between sips of the beer he stole from the kitchen in the back. He wasn’t the biggest fan of the fancy cocktails and champagne served at these kinds of parties, and he wasn’t about to get fucked up on whatever it was they were serving in the corner.  
“‘S not as beautiful as you, ol’ buddy,” Rick slurs his words together.  
Cliff snorts a laugh, patting his friend on the back.  
“How much have you had to drink?”  
“Aw not too much... Man, I gotta take a fuckin’ leak.”  
Rick stumbles away from Cliff, grabbing onto the furniture for balance. He gives a puppy-eyed look towards his friend, beckoning him wordlessly.  
“Alright, c’mon bud.” Cliff takes Rick’s arm and puts it around his shoulder.

  
They get to the bathroom door, and Rick pulls Cliff in before he shuts the door behind them. Rick mashes his lips into Cliff’s as the lock closes with a click.

  
“You motherfucker.” Cliff says with a smile.  
“F-fuck, man, you just look so good in that suit,” Rick says as he slides his hands into the jacket he bought for Cliff to wear a couple of years back.  
“Oh, you like this?”  
“Y-yeah,”  
“Well I’m flattered.”

  
Cliff pushes Rick into the wall next to the sink, trapping him between his muscular arms as he kisses Rick on his lips, chin, neck, and unbuttons his shirt to place another kiss on his right nipple before he gives it a soft bite.

  
Cliff knows how to get Rick on edge. His heart races as Cliff slowly unbuttons his dress shirt one by one, trailing soft kisses and nips down towards his belt buckle. Rick’s breath catches when Cliff finally frees his aching cock; smoky blue eyes taunting him with a smirk.

  
Pants pooling at his feet, Rick bites his knuckles to not let out any sound as Cliff sucks his cock.  
They find a jar of vaseline behind the mirror, a condom in Rick’s wallet, and get to it. It’s only insanely arousing the way the condom wrapper is torn by Cliff’s perfect, pearl white teeth.

  
It surprises Rick how many of his stuntman’s fingers were nested in his ass at the moment. His fingers turn white grabbing the edge of the sink as he glances into the mirror to see his (frankly embarrassing) red face, eyes glossy with tears yet to fall, and a thin line of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth in ecstasy. His eyes find Cliff’s face, cigarette between his lips, drunk not on alcohol, but the fact that he had Rick Fucking Dalton squirming in front of him as he was fucking him with his own hand.

  
“Shit, Cliff,” Rick says, locking eyes within their reflections. “Just fuckin’ do it already, I-I can’t...”  
His stuntman takes the cigarette from his mouth and sets it on the ashtray before grabbing tightly at the base of Rick’s leaking red cock.  
There’s a sharp inhale from Rick before Cliff whispers into his ear.  
“C’mon, boss,” the warm breath in his ear makes him even more aware of the fingers now wiggling inside of him. “Even Brandy’s better at waiting patiently than you are. You gonna be a good boy for me?”  
Words escape his brain, and Rick can only nod.  
“Good boy.”

  
The fingers slide out and guide him to turn around to face Cliff. They kiss; Cliff’s tongue slipping into Rick’s mouth ever so slightly. Rick feels hands hoist him up onto the counter from under his thighs, and his legs being spread to accommodate the man standing between them.

  
Cliff’s cock enters him slowly, stretching him open with a bit of a burn. It wasn’t how Rick had anticipated his first time to be; in a bathroom of a large mansion, people right outside the door, people he knew and even more people who knew him, as his ass sat on the cold porcelain of the bathroom countertop, being fucked by none other than his stuntman turned best friend. Maybe it was a touch of narcissism for them both. In a sense, they were both fucking and being fucked by the man they shared a role with. And maybe they were both lonely. Francesca left Rick soon after the incident, citing that Rick was more worried about Cliff than her, and Cliff hadn’t had company since his wife. For the both of them, each other had been the longest relationship they’d held in a while. And to make things even better, Brandy loved Rick. Maybe it was meant to be.

  
Rick gasps and whines as Cliff thrusts into him, biting his hands as to not alarm the folks outside the door.  
Cliff was liking the way Rick’s muscles would tense when footsteps would come too close to the door.

  
“C-Cliff, Cliff,” Rick frantically whispers. “Fuck, I’m-I'm gonna come.”  
Cliff smirks at him as he takes a swig from the now lukewarm bottle of beer he had brought with him. He sets it down, picks up his cigarette, and pounds into Rick mercilessly.  
“Fuck...!”  
Rick only makes a desperate whining sound before he comes, his ass tightening around the base of Cliff’s cock.  
Rick’s limo body leans forward into Cliff’s broad chest. He lets him stay there until both get a chance to catch their breaths.  
Setting Rick down on the stool in the corner of the bathroom, Cliff gets up and zips his fly back up, looking only the slightest bit winded.

  
He cleans up afterwards, flushing down the tied condom, buttoning Rick back up, and combing his hair with his fingers. Rick looks slightly disheveled, but he does at the end of most parties anyway. His eyes are a bit red, but nothing they couldn’t talk themselves out of.

  
They walk out of the bathroom as if nothing had even happened. People ask where Rick had been, but he only says he’d been throwing up in the bathroom; not unusual for a party with this volume of alcohol. They use this as an excuse to leave the party early, Cliff and Rick not exchanging a word until they start their drive back to the Cielo Drive residence.

  
Cliff drives carefully in the yellow coupe as they drive down the busy streets. Rick was aware of how his friend would drive like a maniac in his own blue convertible, but never experienced being in the passenger seat on such occasion.  
“Hey, buddy?” Rick says.  
“Yeah?”  
“You’re a good man, you know.”  
“A lotta people wouldn’t say that about me.” Cliff laughs.  
“D-don’t care what other people are sayin’,” Rick stumbles over his words.  
“Oh we both know that ain’t true,” Cliff teases. “You care about what everyone thinks.”  
Rick scoffs. It really was true.  
“Y’know that I don’t care what p-people say about you, I-I mean.”  
Cliff ruffles Rick’s hair in response.

  
Rick really meant it. So many people were so afraid of Cliff. Because he’d allegedly murdered his wife. Because he had a tendency to snap surprisingly quickly. Because he’d killed before. In war, and at Rick’s Hollywood home.  
But Rick knew that Cliff, if anything, loved him more than a brother. He’d do anything for Rick, including risking his life. A cop told him that Cliff had tried to hide Rick from the crazy hippies who broke into his home that night. In his acid and painkiller fueled testimony, Cliff had apparently shared that small detail with the police.  
“Yeah he’s the guy payin’ my bills, but more than that he’s my friend,” was how he had put it.

  
Rick was touched, but he never mentioned it to Cliff.


	2. Baby I've Been Thinkin' 'Bout Running Away from You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliff has a flashback to when he first meets Rick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No woo hoo this time, just them flirting and Cliff being a sentimental old fart.

The cool nighttime wind lulls Rick to sleep, softly snoring into the seatbelt. Noting his sleeping passenger, Cliff lowers the volume on the car radio. 

They finally drive in to park in front of the Jake Cahill caricature, and Cliff softly pats Rick awake. 

“C’mon boss, we’re home.”

He closes his side of the door behind him and walks around to open the door.

Rubbing his eyes and yawning awake, a drunk and tired Rick stumbles out of the car and into the arms of his friend. Cliff goes through Rick’s front pocket for the keys, getting dangerously close to his dick. Rick tried to pass off the heat starting to pool at the base of his stomach.

Brandy meets them at the door, almost knocking him off his feet. They both take turns greeting her before Cliff goes to feed her and directs Rick to go get changed. 

Rick comes back from the bathroom with his silk robe on, shuffling over to the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water to attempt to sober up. He watched from the reflection in the window as Cliff undresses from the fancy clothes into an old t-shirt and his underwear. He could barely make out the scar from the knife wound he had obtained a year ago. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off the scar; a physical reminder of how much Cliff cared for him. 

“You bein’ a fuckin’ creep?”

Their eyes meet in the reflection of the window. 

“Shit, man, I-I ain’t...” Rick grabs his glass and staggers to the living room, feeling a bit dizzy. “Damn, I need to sit the fuck down.”

The sound of bare feet comes towards the couch. Trying to avert his eyes from the toned body walking up to him, Rick stirs at the ice in his glass with his finger. That hand was grabbed softly by Cliff’s rough, calloused fingers. 

“Wh-“

Before he could react, Cliff grabbed Rick by the hand with his rough and calloused one. He leads the hand to hike up his underwear to trace the thin knife scar on his thigh. 

The icy finger feels good against the raised scar tissue. The wound was deep, but didn’t leave him with a limp or anything. It just hurt sometimes when it rained. 

“You know I saw ya lookin’.” He smirks. 

Ears turning red, Rick looks up at the man standing in front of him, his beautifully kept physique feeling almost taunting. 

“Fuck, Cliff,” he exhales. 

Cliff only laughs in response. 

His hand now free, Rick explores the scars that cover his friend’s body. Some are newer; small stitches from stunting gigs that Rick knew about. But some were unknown to Rick; older, deep, jagged, and large. 

Cliff had become a war hero in his early twenties while Rick was only in middle school. His lighthearted nature didn’t show it much, but Cliff had an impressive resume. 

“What’s it like?” He asks Cliff, tracing at an obvious bullet wound. “War, I mean.”

“Hmm.”

Cliff steals the glass of water from his hand and taps at the U-shaped scar on his temple. 

“Was hit in the head pretty hard,” he says. “Doc said I got some sort of temporary amnesia. Don’t remember too much.”

“Right.”

It was obvious Cliff didn’t want to talk about it; Rick decided not to continue his questions.

The sound of ice clinking in the glass echoes alongside Brandy’s enthusiastic huffs of her enjoying her dinner. 

“War changes you. It ain’t worth it.”

“You sayin’ you ain’t always been like this?”

Cliff shrugs. 

“I’d never been the kind of person who’d just hop around from place to place on the flip of a coin.”

Rick thought back to when he went to Cliff’s shitty trailer that one time. He had barely nothing but the essentials, and looked like he could pack up and leave at any moment. It strangely made Rick a little nervous. 

“Cliff, buddy,” he mumbled. 

“What?”

“I-I know you live life on a fuckin’ whim,” he stuttered through his sentence. “‘S that mean you’d leave here just... just like that?”

Cliff squeezes Rick’s thigh and gives it a pat. 

“Aw c’mon,” he says with a lighthearted huff. “I probably would’ve a decade ago, but now I gotta take care of you. Damn overgrown baby.”

He said it like a joke, but it was true. 

Cliff was on the verge of leaving Hollywood a decade ago, his stunting career nearing an end in his mind. He rarely stayed in one place for longer than a couple of years, and at that point it had seemed he’d stayed in California long enough. 

But then he met Rick Dalton on the set of Bounty Law. It started just as a way for him to get a bit of cash before heading out of town, but ended up becoming much more than that. 

Rick was a real piece of work; needy, temperamental, a complete narcissist, combined with some early stage alcoholic tendencies. The crew warned Cliff as he walked up to the trailer labeled “Jake Cahill.”

The first time they met, Rick was having a meltdown in his trailer. His shoe crunched on broken glass as he entered. 

“Mornin’ Mr. Dalton. The name’s Cliff Booth.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

His eyes looked like he was crying, but he wasn’t sure.

“I just introduced myself. I’m your new stunt double.”

Cliff sat down beside Rick on the too small couch. 

“Oh, right. Uh, Cliff huh? I’ve heard about you.”

“Hopefully good things,” Cliff knew that wasn’t true at all. 

“Heh, sure.”

Rick fidgets with his lighter, clicking the lid on and off. 

Cliff looks at the expensive looking lighter and points to ask. 

“Mind if I bum a cigarette? I’m all out.” 

Rick reached into his back pocket, pulling out a crushed pack of Red Apple cigarettes. 

“I got a whole buncha these for a promotion deal. They‘re rough though, gotta warn ya.”

“Don’t mind at all. They ain’t too bad.”

Cliff takes one and has Rick light it for him. 

“Real honor to be workin’ as your stunt double, Mr. Dalton,” Cliff says, holding out his right hand. “Not everyone gets to double for someone as handsome and such as you.”

“Oh, nah... Thank you... Oh uh, call me Rick.” He mumbled something along the lines of being more casual. 

“Sure thing boss.”

They both have a moment of silence inhaling their cigarettes. 

“If you don’t mind me askin’ Rick,” Cliff says. “Whats with the broken glass?” 

Now Cliff had already been warned by the crew that Rick Dalton was a temperamental drunk. But Cliff wanted to hear what Rick would say about it. 

What he didn’t expect was the tears. 

A lot of what Rick was sobbing about went in and out of Cliff’s brain, but he sat and consoled him anyways. It reminded him of when he would take care of his siblings and the younger soldiers in the war. 

He patted Rick on the back and nodded when it seemed right. When he finally ran out of things to be upset about, Rick sniffles and accepted the tissue Cliff held out for him. 

“S-Sorry you had to see this. And, uh, th-thanks.”

Cliff gives Rick’s shoulder a light squeeze. 

“Now c’mon, Rick,” he says. “You’re the damn star of this show. You ain’t got nothing to be so afraid of. You’re Jake Cahill; Rick Fucking Dalton. Don’t let anyone forget that.”

Rick smiles. 

“Heh, thanks, b-buddy.”

“Lets go, bud. They gotta fit us for our costumes.”

From then on, Cliff was Rick’s handler. When Rick had his temper tantrums, the crew came to Cliff. The rumors of his wife’s fate had spread far, but he was still easier to talk to than an angry Rick Dalton. Between the time he started to work as Rick’s stunt double, and now, Cliff had somehow talked himself into staying at Rick’s side. He never found that opportunity to leave ever since Rick Dalton occupied a large chunk of his life. His life soon started to revolve around Rick; not just his stunting career, but his personal life as well. There was rarely a time they were apart; especially more so after the last of one Rick’s too many drunk driving tickets. Cliff was grateful for the paycheck driving Rick around, but was more interested in the time they’d spend together. 

Rick Dalton was his sun, and he was the tiny speck in comparison that only shined in the presence of him. 

Cliff’s doesn’t remember when he realized he was in love with Rick. He just noticed that over time, his fondness had changed to adoration and love and desire.


	3. The Son of a Lovin’ Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gets sentimental in the mornings after he gets hammered drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been too busy drawing Rick and Cliff to write tbh. Check it out at @tarmacscene on twitter.

“What?”

“You’re a damn overgrown child that I have to take care of.” Cliff says. 

“Fuck you,” Rick laughs. 

“It’s true.”

Brandy, finished with her late dinner, patters over to the couch to nuzzle at her owners’ feet. 

“Hey, girl. You wanna go to bed?”

Cliff rubs the side of her ears as she licks rat-flavor on his chin. 

She whines what sounds like a yes. 

“You’re washing your fuckin’ face before you come to bed.”

“Oh, you’re letting me come to bed with you?”

“I-I mean, I thought...”

Cliff snaps his fingers and points to the master bedroom. Brandy shoots up and runs for the bed. 

“I go where Brandy goes,” Cliff shrugged.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole.”

“Aw,” Cliff gives Rick a kiss. “I’m touched.”

Rick makes a face. 

“I can’t believe Brandy loves that shit.”

“It ain’t too bad.”

Cliff thought back to the multiple times he’d had a curious and usually drug-induced taste of the can of wet food. 

“What the hell...”

Chuckling, Cliff walks into the bedroom. He sits at the edge of the bed, petting an already sleeping Brandy. Just as he was about to slide in under the covers, he was abruptly stopped. 

“Hey,” Rick snapped. “I ain’t kidding, you better wash that fuckin’ rat scented face or you’re sleepin’ on the couch.”

Cliff raises his arms in mock defeat.

“Whatever you say, boss,” he says as he walks over to the bathroom. 

Rick lies on what was now his side of the bed, bending his legs to accommodate the big pit bull at his feet. He must have been more tired than he thought; Cliff barely has the chance to come back from the bathroom before he falls right asleep. 

-

The sun comes in through the sliver of the curtain that was left open. It shines uncomfortably in Rick’s face. He groans and rubs his eyes. 

“Fuckin’...”

Turning to his side, his breath catches in his throat. 

Right beside him, Cliff lay still asleep. His dusty golden hair draped over his face, catching the light perfectly.

Rick turns his eyes away, feeling for some reason like he wasn’t supposed to have seen that. 

He lights a cigarette to clear his mind, but it doesn’t work.

He kept glancing at the still sleeping Cliff as he thought back at how he got to this moment. Rick grew up in rural Missouri, far from the glamour of Hollywood fame. His parents were good Christian folk, and he followed them to church on Sundays. He was raised to be a good Christian boy, but somehow he had ended up in bed with another man. He thought for a little, wondering what his parents would say. Not that he cared anymore. He only cared now that Cliff was fast asleep, in his home, in his bed even, right beside him. 

Rick had been in love with Cliff for a long time. He only figured that out on his own a couple of years ago. Cliff on the other hand, had realized far earlier and acted upon it in subtle ways that Rick never really noticed. 

Rick enjoyed the time Cliff would spend at his place watching the TV shows he would guest star on. Cliff always had something good to say. He was annoyed and angry about the cops taking away his license after the last time he got cut a drunk driving ticket, but at the police station, getting picked up by Cliff, he felt incredibly relieved. When Cliff offered to be his personal driver, Rick was ecstatic. Nothing he told Cliff to his face, but happy nonetheless. Cliff opened the door to the yellow coupe for him as he was handed the keys, and the rest was history. They both secretly basked in the time they spent in the car together; listening to the radio, having meaningless small talk, watching Rick fall asleep in the passenger seat. No matter how bad Los Angeles traffic got, Cliff felt like he could drive on forever as long as Rick was at his side. 

Turning back to Cliff, this time bracing himself, he managed to bring his hand along Cliff’s forehead to brush the hair off of his eyelids. Rick proceeded to keep staring, mind still hazy from just waking up and the slight hangover. 

He remembered the day his episode of FBI was airing. His antenna had broken a couple of nights ago, and he felt a twinge in his chest. Not because he wasn’t going to be able to watch his show, but because he wouldn’t be able to invite Cliff over to watch it with him. It was a stupid and selfish thing he never admitted, but Rick went to ask Cliff to fix it up, pretending it only just had broken. 

Cliff fixed it for him, and he even _planned_ to stay to watch the episode that night. Cliff would feed Rick’s pride, complimenting him on the most minute of details, and actually enjoying the show. 

He smiles to himself, petting Cliff’s head softly. The sleeping man stirs a little before his eyes open just a crack. 

“You fuckin’ mistake me for Brandy or something?”

The mention of her name has Brandy padding into the room with a bounce in her step. 

“Oh no, old buddy,” Rick says. He pauses for a moment before adding, “but you _are_ my loyal dog, that’s for sure.”

“Oh am I?”

“I’d like to think so.”

He proceeds to rub at the sides of Cliff’s ears like he does with Brandy. Cliff jokingly barks back in response. 

This of course gets Brandy a little riled up, and she jumps on the bed to play. Cliff gets up to give her a hard pat before walking over to the ball that was left by the bedroom door. He picks it up and clicks his tongue once to get her attention. 

“C’mere girl,” he says, holding up the ball for her to see. “Daddy’s gonna play with Rick for a bit. You be a good girl and play on your own.” 

He throws the ball towards the living room, letting her chase it before closing the door. 

“So w-whaddya wanna play?” Rick asks. 

Cliff barks again and mounts Rick before kissing him and biting at his lips. 

“What do you think?” Cliff asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously they’re gonna get nasty in the next chapter so get yourself ready!!!


	4. You Keep Me Hangin’ On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cliff and Rick have some hot and steamy sex in the morning after their first time. Cliff recounts the time he thought it was over between the two.
> 
> Chapter title from the song Cliff blasts at max volume after his walk with Brandy. You know that song’s a breakup jam.

It’s nearing mid September, but the clouds outside still show signs of summer. 

Rick notes this briefly before his line of sight is overtaken by Cliff looming above him. 

“What are you gettin’ distracted about?” He asks. 

Rick smirks. 

“N-nothin’ really,” he says, lifting his head to meet Cliff’s lips. He gives the plump lower lip a nip, tugging it with his teeth. The corners of Cliff’s mouth turn up into a taut smile while his smoky blue eyes stare intently into Rick’s. He raises one eyebrow in suspicion before putting a hand on the belt that tied Rick’s robe together. Everything slips off easily; the finely woven silk he insists on wearing makes getting Rick naked easy. 

Cliff takes his old, thinning t-shirt off and throws it off the side of the bed. Without missing a beat, Rick pulls his boxers off; his cock already half hard. Cliff takes only a quick look before getting off of the bed to guide Rick into a more comfortable position. 

“Shit...!” Rick says through gritted teeth as Cliff wraps his lips around the tip of his dick. 

Cliff feels a little more enthusiastic than usual. Not saying that Rick was already used to this level of intimacy between them, but it was a pleasant surprise to have Cliff initiate. But whatever it was, it felt good. The soft touches, the warmth of his mouth wrapped around him, the embarrassingly wet sounds Cliff was making with that damn mouth of his, and just the way his perfect fucking face stared back at him from between his legs. 

“The fuck y-you looking so f-fuckin’ smug for?”

“Oh, nothing,” Cliff says. He takes his mouth off of Rick to speak, but puts a hard grip on the base of his cock. It drives Rick insane. 

“Cliff,” he whines. “Fuck, Cliff.” 

“Can’t have you coming just yet. We haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“The good part?”

“You know what I mean.” Cliff says, placing a soft but quick kiss on the head of Rick’s cock. “Can’t have you tappin’ out so fast.”

He reaches for the lube in the box under the bed, opening it and spreading it on his fingers. He gets up from his knees to better see Rick’s face as he nudges a finger inside of him. 

Tears start to well in Rick’s eyes, which at this point is starting to feel normal. The combination of the pleasure and Cliff being the one giving it too him somehow makes him excessively emotional. 

“Jesus,” Cliff mutters. “You’re so fuckin’ hot like this.”

He wipes at the corner of Rick’s eye with his thumb. 

“You’d even tear up for a lowly stuntman like me? Fuckin’ look at you...”

Getting impatient and absolutely shaking with the desire for Cliff, Rick opens his mouth. 

“S-shut up and fuck me already.”

Only a little embarrassed at the words that just came out of his desperate mouth, he hides his reddened face behind his arms. It’s the last thing he’s able to say semi-intelligibly before Cliff does exactly as he asked. 

“Fuckin’ crybaby,” Cliff teases before pulling his fingers out of Rick.

Rick moans at the sudden emptiness in his stomach. 

“Just remember,“ Cliff’s whispering mouth is an inch from his ear. “I’m the only one who can make you cry. You’re mine.”

-

Fucking on a soft bed feels much better than in a bathroom. It’s more comfortable to have Egyptian cotton under your ass when you’re getting fucked rather than cold, hard Italian marble. 

And this time, they were actually completely alone. Rick could make all the noise he wanted, and it seemed Cliff liked it when he was loud.

“Nn..., fuck!” 

Rick claws at Cliff’s back, their chests sticking together with sweat. The path his fingertips take isn’t smooth; the stuntman and former soldier’s back riddled with scar tissue and shadows of old stitches. Rick digs his nails in harder, suddenly feeling the urge to leave his own mark on Cliff’s body. 

“Woah there,” he chuckles. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

Cliff thrusts his hips forward, angling himself to hit Rick’s sweet spot. He moans in response. 

“C-can’t get used to that.” Rick says, his breath hot against Cliff’s neck. 

“What, this?” He says, with sly tone of voice before snapping his hips into the man underneath him over and over, faster and harder than before. 

The air left Rick’s lungs accompanied by an embarrassingly loud moan. He felt like his brain was melting, like every bit of rational thinking was escaping him, leaving nothing but his capacity to feel so god damned good. 

“Jesus, C-Cliff,” he manages to gasp out.

His legs wrap tighter around Cliff’s waist, signaling to him that he was just about to come. 

Noting that Rick was starting to claw at his back like a fucking cat, Cliff slows down and gives Rick a kiss on his sweaty forehead. He then lowers his hands to stroke at Rick’s cock, guiding him through the wave of ecstasy he was almost drowning in. 

Rick makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a whine into Cliff’s neck. Hot, sticky liquid splatters onto the hand enveloping the tip of his cock. 

“Shit,” Rick mutters, breathing shallowly. 

Cliff gives Rick that sly look of his again before bringing his soiled hand up to his mouth and giving it a good lick.

“Aw, Jesus...” 

Rick would be lying if he didn’t find Cliff looking straight at him with his semen sitting on his pink tongue incredibly hot.

Cliff closes his mouth over Rick’s, exchanging spit among other things while he feels himself coming inside of Rick. 

Still mid-kiss, Cliff makes a soft groaning sound in the back of his throat. 

Even through the condom, Rick can feel Cliff come inside of him. Still sensitive from his own climax just a few moments ago, he tightens around Cliff’s width. He feels like he was going insane. It doesn’t help that he was fucking feeding him back his own semen either; the bitter, musky taste of it making his eyebrows raise. 

The kiss ends with their lips still connected by a thin string of saliva. Rick unconsciously swallows what was in his mouth, breath taken by the look on Cliff’s face. He’d never seen him look like that before. 

Feeling dazed, he senses his back and head being cradled by large, rugged hands, lowering him carefully onto the pillows. 

”You okay?” Cliff asks. 

“...y-yeah,” Rick reaches for a tissue. “I-I need a fuckin’ shower now though.”

”You go ahead. I’ll clean up in here first.”

If you can even stand, Cliff adds with a smirk. 

Rick responds with a quick ‘fuck you’ look before attempting to get off the bed. His knees give out for a moment, but Cliff catches him and helps him to the bathroom. 

Watching the door to the bathroom close, Cliff gets to ripping the sheets off of the bed and picking up the clothes they had strewn about. He takes the balled up bedsheet to the washer and mindlessly throws it in. He knows he’s distracted and is completely unaware of the amount of detergent he put in, nor if he turned the machine on or not. 

Cliff Booth had yet to stop being in complete bliss that he just had the most mind blowing sex with a Hollywood star. This star’s career may have peaked a while ago, but still, this was Rick Fucking Dalton we were talking about. The star of Bounty Law, a spaghetti western headliner, and the only human being that Cliff honestly gave an effort to care about. 

This was what made Cliff so unpopular to work with. He genuinely was uninterested in what other people would say or think or do, unless he really enjoyed their company. Rick was one of the few. 

Cliff was fascinated by him. 

Rick's conventionally handsome looks got him babied, indulged, and spoiled growing up; probably contributing to the bratty attitude and extremely high pride and self worth he suffers from still. Rick was an unapologetic narcissist, which almost everyone saw but Rick himself. But he was also incredibly fragile. The smallest thing could send him into a spiral of alcohol and anger. 

“Come on, boss,” Cliff would say. “It ain’t good for you.”

He was always the one to take the bottle off of Rick’s hands. 

When Rick told him he was getting married, Cliff was devastated. Of course he kept his cool; he was still playing the role of “Stuntman Cliff Booth” in front of Rick, but he couldn’t help but think. All those years, he was the one who had been at Rick’s side. They were more than brothers; Cliff had seen Rick at his worst countless times. But he chose the sexy Italian actress he’d just met to decide to spend his life with. 

To make things even worse, that day in the Spanish restaurant, Rick told him it was going to be their last ride together. It was the last nail in the coffin. Cliff smiled it off, but he didn’t see Rick for the rest of the night. He needed some time alone. 

The flight back to Los Angeles had Cliff sitting in the back of the plane, drinking multiple Bloody Marys, alone with his thoughts. He put his sunglasses on, just as he’d done to Rick countless times, and let himself tear up, just a little bit. 

He was fully intent on getting incredibly drunk for what they both thought would be the last time together. They both had too many margaritas, and Cliff, lacking better judgement, took the acid-dipped cigarette from the case he’d left it in months prior.

He knew that shit would get him high off his mind so he could forget. He’d forget Rick, pack up his piece of shit trailer, and move on. But the acid and alcohol just made him stupid. He came back home from his walk with Brandy and for some reason decided to blare that fucking song as if he were a teen in the midst of a breakup. He was only relieved that Rick was too busy listening to his own music out in the pool to notice. 

Then of course those damn hippies came to play. Cliff, not knowing what they knew, tried to hide the fact that Rick was outside in the backyard pool. He would be the one to protect Rick at all costs. He only noted Francesca sleeping in the bedroom to the crazies, and geared himself up to fight. 

When he realized that they knew Rick was supposed to be here, Cliff goes in for a hit. 

“I know you.” 

It’s a mild distraction before he and Brandy (and a surprisingly feisty Francesca) get to work in an ‘act of self defense.’

He doesn’t remember a lot of it, but he does remember Rick calling his name and holding him in his wet arms until the police arrived.

“You’re a good friend.” Rick said to him. 

Cliff watched Rick stand in the drive as the ambulance drove down to the hospital. For a moment, Cliff let himself stop being Cliff Booth, Hollywood Stuntman and the War Hero, to be just regular old Clifford Booth. He loosened his arm from the stretcher he was tucked into to cover his face from the EMTs; who were too busy anyways talking to each other about the crazy scene they’d just witnessed. 

“Fuck,” Cliff thought to himself. “I just can’t leave him alone.”


	5. A Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. A little of what happens when Rick visits Cliff at the hospital.

Cliff was fully intent on pulling his disappearing act once he was well enough to leave the hospital and walk again. Maybe he’d move East or up North. Either way, he couldn’t bear to be in LA with Rick being next to someone that wasn’t him. 

That was until that night a week or so into his hospital stay. 

It was well past lights out, but Cliff couldn’t sleep. He stared into the erratic patterns on the mineral fiber ceiling and listened to the snoring of the old man in the bed across from him to try to bore himself to sleep, but it wasn’t working. 

He then heard footsteps coming down the hall. They weren’t a nurse’s footfalls; it sounded much heavier. The person, whoever it was, stopped in front of the door to his room. A shadow blocked the minimal light coming in through the small window and the bottom of the door. Cliff was on edge. This was obviously suspicious. 

The door opened not to a stranger, but a familiar silhouette. The door closed behind him softly as it walked towards Cliff’s bed by the window. 

“Hey, boss.”

“Fuck,” the man said, a little startled. “I-I didn’t know if you’d be a-awake.”

“It’s two in the goddamn morning,” Cliff said, glancing at the clock. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Rick Dalton dragged a chair over to the side of his bed. 

“I just... I just wanted to see if you were alright, old buddy.”

Cliff raised an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“That’s a fuckin’ lie. You already came last week; brought me those bagels like I asked.”

Now why did you really come, Cliff asked sternly. 

“I... Shit. Francesca left me.” 

Cliff was dumbfounded for a moment. 

“...You bein’ serious?”

Rick had a tendency to inflate his tragedies. 

“Y-yeah. Signed the papers and everything. She’s leaving for Italy tomorrow morning.”

Cliff laughed a little. It was almost like Rick had a gift when it came to making Cliff stay. 

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh,” Rick said, face getting a little red. “I-I came clean to her. About the money, the house, a-and the drinkin’ and shit. She was already spooked by the damn hippies comin’ to attack us... She said I wasn’t the man she thought I was or somethin’... I-I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Rick left out the part where Francesca saw the way he lived almost completely dependent on his best friend, and how he was an absolute mess with him not there with him. 

“You love him more than me,” she said before she left. “And I think he does too.”

Those words echoed inside Rick’s brain. Before he knew it, he was driving for the first time in a while to see Cliff. 

Cliff gave Rick’s disheveled hair a soft pat. 

“It’s gonna be alright, boss,” he said. “I’m here.”

Rick pulled out a pack of Red Apples from his pocket. He wordlessly offered one to Cliff. He happily obliged. 

“Wait a minute,” Cliff said. The smoke he exhaled trailed slowly to the ceiling. “How’d you get here?”

“D-drove. The coupe. I ain’t even have a drink.”

“You what?” Cliff laughs. 

“F-fuck off man, I couldn’t get a cab.”

“Could’ve waited ‘till the morning,” he points out. “They don’t even let visitors in at this time of night.”

Rick balls his fists at his knees as he looks for a way to explain himself. Finding no reasonable excuse for him to visit his friend, his driver, nor his stunt double, Rick decides to gamble on it. 

“Francesca, she-she told me that... fuck,” Rick knew he was fucking this up, stumbling over every word.

“What’d she say?” 

Cliff, patient as ever, sets a warm hand on his shoulder to calm him down. 

“She said she thought I-I... She said I l-loved... you, m-more than I ever did her.”

Cliff looks at him, a look of confusion on his face. He wasn’t quite sure yet where this conversation was heading. 

“You sure you haven’t been drinking?” 

“Shut up,” Rick’s ears feel burning hot. “I’m fuckin’ sober for the first time in years.”

He feels Cliff move his hands to put it under his chin. His fingers tilt Rick’s head up to meet his eyes. 

“I’m, I’m not tryin’ to sound like a fuckin’ fairy, but I’ve been thinking,” God, the more he tried to explain himself the worse it was getting. 

“I... I think she’s right.”

Cliff can’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“...You serious?” He asks. 

“Shit, this was fuckin’ stupid, just... forget it.”

Rick tries to get up to leave, his eyes starting to go red. But before he can even get a single step away from him, Cliff grabs hold of Rick’s arm tightly. 

“Stop, Cliff, just let me —“

Before he could finish his sentence, Cliff pulls his arm down so that their faces are level and stares into his eyes. Rick sniffles, his eyesight blurring from the tears welling in them. 

“Hey,” Cliff whispers softly. “I’m sorry. Don’t fuckin’ say that.”

The iron grip on his arm moves to gently hold the side of his face. Cliff uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray tear from his cheek. 

They touch their foreheads together. 

“I ain’t going anywhere.”

Within 6 months of leaving the hospital, Cliff sold his trailer and moved in to Rick’s mansion. Rick, riding on a wave of newfound fame from the rumors about the hippie attacks spreading, decided he would keep the house. Rick Dalton was a busy man once more, which meant Cliff also had things to do. 

It still took Rick a little time to figure out that he was completely, definitely romantically and sexually attracted to his best friend, but Cliff didn’t mind the wait. He bided his time until Rick asked him to come to bed with him for the first time. 

-

And here Cliff was, almost a year after that hospital visit, basking in some post-coital bliss on Rick Dalton’s bed. 

He heard the water turn off and watched as Rick appeared from the bathroom in next to nothing to pick up his clothes from the floor. Cliff gets up with a groan, stretching his back. 

“It’s your turn, old buddy.” Rick says, emphasis on the ‘old.’

“You’re a little fucker.”

Cliff places a quick kiss on Rick’s cheek as he passed him to the bathroom. 

Kicking off his boxers, Cliff turns on the shower. He picks up the towels Rick had strewn about the floor before stepping into the water.

There was something strangely satisfying about the fact that the both of them shared everything now. Cliff took a moment to stare at the assortment of products he’d bought at the store. He liked that he could hold Rick tightly and smell the soap he had bought for him in his hair. 

Cliff exited the bathroom to find the house empty. He walks to the living room to find the door to the backyard open, and Brandy waiting patiently by the door with her ball. 

“Is Rick out there?” He asks her. 

She looks up at Cliff, tilting her head.

“You wanna play in the pool too?”

Her ears perk up at the mention of the word “pool” and “play.” She lets her tongue loll out and watches excitedly as her owner picks up her ball. 

Cliff puts a finger up to his lips as he looks at Rick, a whiskey sour in one hand and a cigarette in the other, floating in the pool with Cliff’s sunglasses on his face. He lets Brandy look at the ball, making sure her eyes tracked it before tossing it into the pool, right beside the pool float. 

Rick barely has time to react before Brandy splashes into the pool, knocking Rick over. 

“Jesus fuck!”

Cliff laughs. Walking barefoot to the edge of the pool, he looks down at Rick and a happily doggy paddling Brandy. 

“Cliff!”

Rick looks at the glass now just full of chlorinated water, whiskey sour lost in the pool. 

“You motherfucker.”

Wiping his face with his hand, Rick searches for his lost cigarette. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Cliff says, taking off the shirt he only just put on. He dives into the pool next to Rick, getting him soaked for the second time. 

Cliff reappears from under the water, grabbing at Rick’s waist. 

“You’re a fuckin’ piece of work.” Rick tells him. 

“So are you.” Cliff replies. 

The kiss is cold and wet, and Brandy kept trying to join in on the fun, but it felt good. It took both of them nearly a decade, but now here they stood; a warm mid-September morning, chest deep in a cold pool, wanting nothing in the world but to be in the arms of the other. 

Cliff was glad he found Rick. As annoying and arrogant as he was, Rick Dalton made him a bit of a better man. If the war changed Cliff into a carefree man, Rick taught him how to care again, even if just a tiny bit. And Rick was glad he had such a loyal companion that had even bothered to stay with him for nearly a decade. If there was anything he hated, it was being lonely and unseen. Cliff solved those problems for him any time. 

“C’mon,” Cliff said, brushing his wet hair back. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“I bought those bagels you liked so much.”

“You really get me, boss.”

“Heh, I-I try.”

They leave wet footprints on the concrete as they head inside, Cliff’s two steps behind Rick, and Brandy’s following. 

It’s a good start to the morning, they both thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’ve got more ideas that I’ve yet to write or draw, so stay tuned...

**Author's Note:**

> I watched this movie twice in theaters, and I honestly don’t think I’ve seen Brad Pitt being this insanely hot in a long time. 
> 
> Also the movie literally said they were more than brothers, so that’s how this piece spawned into existence.


End file.
